


Crime Never Goes Unpunished

by avadakxdavra



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter Films
Genre: Blow Jobs, Explicit Sexual Content, Harry getting on Snape's nerves, He doesn't have fantasies about Harry, I mean, I shouldn't have said that, M/M, Male Slash, NSFW, Slash, Snape getting tired of Harry's shit, Snape making his fantasies reality, Snape taking things into his own hands, Spells & Enchantments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-15 15:06:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3451604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avadakxdavra/pseuds/avadakxdavra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Severus Snape was convinced that Harry Potter thoroughly enjoyed testing his patience on a day-to-day basis. Severus/Harry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crime Never Goes Unpunished

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fanfiction not long after entering the Harry Potter fandom, so I wasn't familiar with a lot of things [like where Snape's chambers were]. My apologies for that! I hope you enjoy this fic regardless.

Severus Snape was convinced that Harry Potter thoroughly enjoyed testing his patience on a day-to-day basis. The boy never could provide answers for the simplest of questions, nor could he successfully recite any of the components necessary to produce even the most basic of potions. As a professor, Snape couldn’t think of a single thing that was more infuriating than attempting to teach a student that had zero desire to learn. The very least Potter could do is simply pay attention -- _humor him_ , and tear his eyes away from his journal, which was riddled with doodles and various incantations, both of which Snape had witnessed him penning in the middle of his lecture (and shortly thereafter, unabashedly brought it to his peers attention). 

Detention no longer qualified as a _suitable_ punishment for Mr. Potter’s laziness. The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result; in this case, it was obvious that assigning Potter the task of cleaning the cauldrons day after day wasn’t going to alter his inability to pick up a textbook. This method of punishment was undeniably broken and Snape had yet to decide just how he was going to go about fixing it. He briefly considered the idea of merely passing the burden onto another...surely there would be someone (an admirer, _perhaps_ ) willing to tolerate Potter’s over-inflated ego, exaggerated sense of self-importance, and repeated non-compliance with classroom regulations. 

Snape wordlessly made his way down the barren halls of Slytherin, the students having been instructed to return to their dormitories the moment the clock struck eight. In light of recent events, the new curfew was very _strictly_ enforced, much to the dismay of many. Upon reaching the end of the hall, Snape veered to the right and advanced down yet another corridor, not stopping until he arrived at the door that concealed his private quarters. He kept it locked... _always_. The lock was also impervious to any enchantment that a curious student might utter in a vain effort to invade his personal space.

After the door was unlatched, Snape scanned the vicinity once more before retreating into his chambers, making sure to click the lock shut behind him. He crossed the dark room, the only illumination coming from a candle he’d lit with a simple flick of his wand upon entry, and sank down into his desk chair. The room was neither neat nor a complete and total disaster; Snape affectionately referred to it as _organized chaos_. His desktop was stacked high with textbooks on Potions, Charms, and Defense Against The Dark Arts (mostly Potions, of course), and littered with loose parchment. The window on the opposite wall -- the only window -- was shielded by thick, dark green drapes that descended all the way to the floor, greatly resembling the ones in his classroom. A number of bookshelves lined the same wall, all of which contained even more books and a vast array of potions, stored in bottles of various shapes and sizes.

Grading papers was most certainly not number one on his list of priorities this evening. If he were to force himself to read sixty-seven papers, four feet of parchment each, on the uses of dragon’s blood, the resulting marks would undoubtedly be a reflection of his current mood (though, he was confident that they wouldn’t stray terribly far from the score the student probably deserved). Snape set the journal that had been tucked under his arm amongst the clutter scattered over his desk, then delicately placed his wand atop it. The frustration of dealing with an incompetent student wasn’t going to wane nearly long enough for him to get anything productive done. Even the thought of reviewing and revising his Advanced Potions textbook wasn’t the least bit appealing, and that alone spoke volumes about how truly perturbed he was...however, his hardened visage didn’t give anything away. 

Snape allowed himself to sigh for what could have been the millionth time that night before dragging a hand through his midnight black hair, knowing that if he didn’t think of a way to ease his tension...and soon, he’d end up yanking out every last strand. What he so desperately wanted to do, more than _anything_ , was confront Potter again and promise -- not threaten, _promise_ \-- him that if he displayed the same insolence for even one more class period, he would fail him without remorse. Up until this point, Severus had been extremely tolerant of Potter’s behavior. To make anything of oneself in the Wizarding World, it was detrimental that they complete and preferably not pass their classes with the bare minimum, their seven years at Hogwarts, otherwise they wouldn’t be taken seriously and have every door of opportunity slammed in their face. Though...it was hardly likely that the _“Chosen One”_ (or “the boy who lived” -- take your pick) would ever be turned away.

Snape tore his gaze away from an uninteresting spot on the wall and instead focused his attention on his wand. The realization of just _why_ he condoned the Gryffindors holier-than-thou temperament dawned on him night after night. He’d never admit it -- no, because he didn’t much care to think about what the consequences would be (contrary to popular belief, he had grown quite fond of the school, and would rather keep his job). Snape tensed his jaw, not giving himself even half a second to contemplate his decision, before reaching out and grabbing hold of his wand, only to point it at the door on the opposite side of the room. _“Silencio,”_ he murmured, a barrier now actively preventing anyone (and by anyone, Snape was exclusively referring to Mr. Filch; that man was a sneaky bastard) from hearing anything that would soon transpire. The spell itself didn’t last as long as Snape would’ve liked, but it lasted long enough -- enough to do what he needed, and shamefully, _wanted_ to do. Naturally, the Potions Professor would go about punishing/scolding Potter in a different way entirely under...normal circumstances. 

Snape shifted in his uncomfortable desk chair, considering relocating to the plush lounge chair seated by the fireplace, but ultimately, the anticipation of what was to come kept him from doing so. The more he dawdled, the longer it’d be before he was able to achieve the release he so _desperately_ craved. Licking his lips, Snape swished his wand from one side to the other and back, uttering yet another conjuration. Within seconds, a form started to materialize right before his eyes -- a form that promptly took the shape of Harry Potter, clothed in the Gryffindor robes he had last been seen in. He looked particularly... _skittish_ , almost as if he knew he had done something wrong.

_Good._

It was strangely difficult for him to conceal his fondness for this Potter. This one was, despite being entirely an illusion, the exact opposite of the one he had to endure, painfully, every day. “You…” Snape kept his stare fixed on the young man, who was standing five feet in front of him, give or take, “took great pleasure in making yet another scene in the middle of _my_ class, Mister Potter.”

Harry swallowed thickly around the nervous lump in his throat and clenched his fingers at his sides, “I’m sorry, sir.” The genuineness of his words -- however few, was indisputable, an awe-inspiring contrast to the response he would normally receive. Snape unhurriedly placed his wand back atop his desk, managing to resist the overpowering urge to smirk, “this is not the first time you’ve apologized for said offense.” Another apology was on the tip of Harry’s tongue, but his mouth snapped shut just as quickly as it had opened. “Exactly how long did you predict that I would tolerate such conduct?” 

“I…” The Gryffindor’s eyes dropped to the floor, purposely avoiding Snape’s piercing (and frankly, _intimidating_ ) gaze, “I don’t know.” It wasn’t a lie. After all, this wasn’t the real Harry. It almost wasn’t fair that this Harry had to accept punishment for something the other one did, but...Snape was far beyond the point of rationalizing what was and was not considered fair.

“You don’t know, _what_..?”

“I don’t know, _sir_.”

This time, Snape did smirk, “lying isn’t very becoming on you.” Since (this) Harry was the product of a spell that he had cast, he would do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted him to do it, but first...Snape wanted to push his buttons just a little bit. “Perhaps I should ask the question in a way that you will be able to answer it _truthfully_.” Harry, by now, knew better than to argue -- so he lifted his head and simply remained quiet. “Do you predict that I will _continue_ to tolerate such disobedience?”

Immediately, Harry shook his head, “no sir.”

“And you would be correct. I must say,” Snape drummed his fingers idly on the arm of his desk chair, “that is a first.” Harry attempted to hide the flush of embarrassment that spread over his pale cheeks, but failed miserably. “You know what is required of you now -- do you not?” Harry nodded and took a few reluctant steps forward, anticipating that Severus might stop him, but when he didn’t, Harry started to drop himself to his knees, managing to lower down onto only one when Snape’s voice nearly made him jump, “aren’t you forgetting something?” 

Harry felt compelled to apologize profusely, but knew that in the end it would be better not to acknowledge the error, and merely correct it. Strangely, there was less consequence that way. The Gryffindor straightened and raised his hands to the front of his robes, eyes not straying away from Snape as he dutifully unsecured the clasps before letting it fall from his shoulders. He loosened his red and gold tie and toed off his shoes, not bothering to make a show of it. Tonight, Harry could tell Snape was exceptionally impatient and didn’t want to be kept waiting. 

He then tugged off his tie and dropped it atop his discarded robes, surprised that Snape wasn’t scolding him for not neatly folding them up and setting them down somewhere they’d be out of the way. Harry untucked his crisp white shirt, fingers trembling in anticipation as he loosened every button, soon letting it join the other articles of clothing on the floor. Snape watched intently as Harry’s hands descended to his own pants and made quick work of the button and fly, but somehow, it wasn’t nearly quick enough. Harry tugged down both his trousers and underwear and kicked them off when they pooled around his ankles, now standing stark naked before the Potions Professor. Obviously, Snape hadn’t the foggiest of an idea how Potter _truly_ looked underneath those robes, so what he was seeing now was...well, how Snape _imagined_ he looked -- not that he’d set aside any time to think about it, of course…

Harry finally broke eye contact with Snape as he again lowered down onto his knees, situating himself comfortably between the man's parted legs, his arousal now... _plainly_ evident. Snape’s grip on the armrest tightened a fraction, “Don’t. Waste. Time.” He ground out through clenched teeth; they only had so much time before the spell wore off -- he’d found this out the hard way. Nothing was more disappointing than having to finish himself off. Frankly, it wasn’t quite as satisfying as that mouth. Harry nodded and brought both his hands up to unbutton Snape’s black trousers, then very carefully tugged the zipper down over his aching length, “I’m sorry, sir.”

Snape shifted his hips and exhaled shakily when Harry wrapped a warm hand around the base of his erection, “if you were capable of following simple instructions, apologies would not be necessary.” No later than the words left his lips, Harry swiped his even warmer tongue over the velvety soft tip, lapping up the small, clear bead of pre-come that pooled at the slit. Snape dropped his free hand to rest it firmly on the back of Harry’s head, which was gradually lowering down onto his cock, expertly swallowing every inch until his nose lightly brushed his abdomen. _Merlin_ \-- that mouth, that tongue -- all of it was so fucking good. With deliberate slowness, Harry began to bob his head up and down, taking Snape in deep with every rhythmic motion. 

One, two, three glorious minutes passed before Snape found his voice, however strained, “sometimes I think you purposely defy the rules just so you can,” he moaned, despite his efforts to hold it back, “get on your knees and service me. Am I a fool for assuming such?” Harry hummed around the thickness in his mouth, not ceasing his movements until Snape curled his fingers in his hair and forcefully yanked his head off his cock, which drew a strangled whine from Potter’s lips. “Haven’t you ever been told,” Snape’s voice lowered dangerously, his grip unrelenting, “that it is impolite to speak when your mouth is full?” Harry couldn’t even nod. Instead, he made a noise -- a noise which could have passed as an affirmative. The former Slytherin smirked, then released his hold on Harry’s hair, not phased by the tears that pricked the corners of the young mans eyes. “Now,” his hand returned to the armrest, “what was it you said?”

Harry swallowed thickly and briefly closed his eyes, the tears involuntarily sliding down his cheeks, “no sir. You are not.” Snape was obviously pleased with this answer, regardless of the fact that it wasn’t coming from the real Harry. “I suspected as much,” he tipped his head toward his swollen cock, silently urging Potter to return to his task, and the boy did just that, swallowing the entirety of his length in one smooth motion, eliciting a groan from deep within Snape’s chest.

One, two, three additional minutes passed before Snape was hit like a freight train with that all too familiar feeling. Heat spiked in the pit of his abdomen and slowly but surely started to spread to his length -- he was close, startlingly close. Harry knew when Snape was about to come. His body language said it all. Snape’s head tipped back while his spine arched against the chair and delicious sounds and colorful curses slid from his parted lips. All it took was a couple more bobs of Harry’s head before Snape lost it. Hips stuttering and breath hitching, the Potions Professor came in thick, white ribbons down the eager Gryffindors throat. The moment his orgasm began to dwindle, Snape opened his eyes and smirked lightly when he saw that Harry was gone. 

As Snape regrettably cleaned himself up, he faintly hoped that the real Harry Potter planned on being late to class tomorrow.


End file.
